Hey Lady, Will You Sell Me Your Dog?

Basically, this sort of thing shouldn't happen. I mean, you buy a puppy when they are being sold on the corner, at the pet store, perhaps out of the paper, from a friend; but you don't approach someone whose had a dog as a member of her family for nearly 5 years and just because she's cool - offer to pay her for the dog. AS IF.

OK...before I go into all the reasons this guy was nuts, tell me something - what does this guy plan to do with my dog? Market her? Just exactly HOW would he do that without getting her to cooperate with him on his every whim? Would she cooperate? She doesn't do what I ask her to do most of the time. I just let her go, and watch! She walks where she wants to walk, noses what she wishes, and when she decides to go under the bed or under the table if we're in public, she goes! Faith has her own agenda. Does this man really think he can pay me for my kid? (Don't answer that...I might sell Caity. I would laugh my self silly, roll over in fact, and call 9-1-1 just to help the man out, but I could conceive of selling THAT child before I could conceive of selling Faith.) Caity and I have a deal. If I can sell her and make a decent profit I have to split it with her. She doesn't believe anyone would actually pay money, but she's at least willing to consider the possibilities. That is, until the person made a demand of the girl - that's when it would get fun. Talk about a show; sit back and take odds. Put your money on the monster. I really do love this kid, I do. I love her endlessly, unconditionally, sometimes at a far distance, and sometimes really up close and personal...but I wouldn't pay a nickel for another one just like her.

Buy my dog! The Hell they say! The second I did something like that I would become the most hated person on earth. Keith Olbermann would mark me as the Worst of the Worst People on the Planet. Karl Rove would get a better poll score than me. I could just see the headlines "Two-Legged Bitch isn't a Canine", or maybe "Faith Be Gone,Owner Sells for $1M" Besides, what would I do with a Million Dollars that I can't do with the pennies I make now? I couldn't' hide. I couldn't buy another puppy and start over hoping it would respect me...which it probably would because dogs do that. They love no matter what. I would be the most evil of evils...not to mention the fact that my baby-girl would cry and not understand for a second why I left her with a stranger.

Please, do me a favor. If you see me in public with my dog, ask me how old she is, what her favorite game is, what she eats (Petlane Pure Woof - Get it from Lenny Slape in San Fran.) but never ask me if you can buy my dog, never ask me how much I'd take. The answer to that question is this: I would take a bullet for her, but she's not for sale. If you want the truth, I wouldn't really sell my little girl either; she's a mess and a pain in my backside most of the time, but that Gremlin is my baby doll, and even though I'll fight her to the end of days, she is forever in my soul, in my blood.

You may not get to pick your family, but you certainly don't go around selling them. Geez!

CSI-NY Does the UNTHINKABLE

(Best looking eyes in the Army!)

I'm sick! Just absolutely sick tonight. I was sitting on my couch drinking a little wine with my friend Niki, we were enjoying a great batch of hot chocolate chip cookies....when CSI-NY opens up their new episode with a boy getting shot and killed. His name was RUBEN. Can't tell you how that struck me! I wanted to reach out and rip the head off the shooter, right then, right there. Of course, my good friend Niki looks over and says "Betcha anything they didn't spell his name REUBEN, I know they didn't. Your son is fine." I wasn't really all that personally touched, just maybe a little.

So this kid, this RUBEN, he's living in the apartment complex where Danny Messer lives. Right down the hall. He kept Messer up sometimes with his laughing, and his playing little boy tricks....so they OFF THE GUY! Oh, please...two minutes, just two minutes with that shooter.....no, I'm OK...I'm fine. Drink a little more wine, Jude, you'll be OK.

The phone rings. "Hey Mom" came the voice. I love my son. Seems someone in Oklahoma City called him on his cell to say a RUBEN had been killed on CSI-NY; it's not a name you hear that often. Reu didn't blink. He knew I would be watching, it's my show. He thought maybe 1 second about it, and decided to put in a call to let his little-more-than-letting-on mom know that he's perfectly safe in his bunk up in the Tundra of Fairbanks, Alaska. (Although, this week Oklahoma had worse weather than the Tundra with our record breaking ice storm.)

"I love you baby. Don't drive your Stryker on the streets of New York Baby Boy, there's a killer out there." He laughed. "I heard about it. Hey, can that RUBEN do this?" he asked, and he reared back and burped one of the longest, loudest, what he would say juiciest belches this side of the Atlantic! That's my son. That's what mom needed....security, priority one. If he can do that, he's perfectly fit. He's warm, he's been fed, he's just - - well, the most wonderful son in the world.

So, maybe after thinking about it, I need to thank the writers of CSI-NY for putting the name out there. What this world needs, and I mean this; are a few more Reu. No matter how you spell it. Good night Soldier Boy! Thanks for thinking of me when you knew I was thinking of you.

Honest Rons Guitars

Hey, I went to the hood today, where I used to teach, and right in the heart of the city is Honest Ron's Guitars! Look, there's a picture of Ron (on the website you can see Dobro his dog in the shot), who I'm sure will be assisting Ron when he repairs, tunes, and loves my two guitars that I took to him today. I'm going to let Ron babysit them until I return from Spain.

I hadn't been to his store before, but it came highly recommended by a man named Bill at the Larsen's Music Store, a store where I would have been more than happy to leave my babies, but Bill suggested Ron. Bill said, and I must agree having met Ron, that Ron was the right guy for the job. Look at him, this man's been around music for a very long time. He'll be the best for the job...bar none.

Well, if you need a guitar, need a guitar fixed, or if you just woke up this morning and thought you just had to have a new or used mandolin, Ron is the man to see. His website is cool too, it is: www.honestronsguitars.com (very original name) and his shop is located at 1129 N. May, OKC, OK. Call first, he's only there 3 days a week. Rumor has it he loves his family and spends time with them on the other days.....Dobro told me.

Love to you guys at the shop!!

Hard Earned American Tax Dollars At Work in Iraq

(This is not my son. This is Marcus Levering. He's in Iraq - Being really cool.)

ONCE AGAIN, I am proven right when I say that American football has it's highest priority. Nothing, not even WAR can stop this soldier from playing the game. Look at that form, what a handsome man!

We used to tease my son because he (like I) quit a really good paying job once when they didn't let him off to play football. I actually quit when I wasn't allowed to go to the game - he was playing. He had a much higher call of duty than I did. But look at Marcus Levering - - In the war, in the middle of it all, and has the wherewithal to pick up the ball and run with it...after he poses with it. That's spirit! That's what I'm talking about! Get out there and kick some desert butt.

Makes you wonder if Americans did actually form an Army/Marine team in Iraq and they played the Army/Marine team in say Afghanistan on any given Saturday, on perhaps a closed circuit television channel, what their team mascots would be. What colors would they choose? What would their SECRET WEAPONS or play be? Let's see: Iraq is mostly desert, sandy, populated, they could be called the Urban Rhinos. You'd have the same camo desert colored ACUs and their helmets could show the symbol of a big nasty Rhino carrying an assault rifle in one hand and a grenade in the other. The boys and girls (if they wanted to play) in Afghanistan would be from the hills, unpopulated, loners, so they could be the Covert Condors...YES. They'd wear all black with red helmets, and a big pair of wings coming out of the American Flag on their helmets.

The game would take place in the middle somewhere - equal field position, flat, preferably with grass, although I would have no idea where that would be. The camera and media crews would be the ONLY spectators. It would be played under very secret circumstances and the winners would be every one of us who got to watch. The hardest thing about it would be trying to broadcast the players by name because ACUs and black ninja outfits don't have names printed on the back of the men/women in play. We'd have to number them only and just call out "False start, Defense, Number 63" (I'm used to hearing that particular call - so I threw it in there. It's the reason my son was given the nickname Sooner. Had nothing to do with is love for Oklahoma football. He was offsides constantly trying to make a play. Fast kid.)

The bottom line on this one.....Americans send their boys to war, their boys take their game! Thank you! May the BEST always win. Hooah!

Update on Stella Silvertone

Isn't she absolutely beautiful? She arrived today by FedEx, and I couldn't believe the extreme care her sellers took to send her. She was wrapped in the best grade materials I have ever seen - then boxed, taped, and again, shipped by FedEx. She was warm to the touch when I pulled her out of the box, and it's freezing outside. Great job! Thank you.

Stella is about ready to meet Honest Ron the guitar doctor. He's really busy this time of year, so before I hand her over for what could be two weeks, I want to hold her a bit, get to know her, and just figure out a few things. I know she's about my age, she's made of mahogany, and she's been strung in the past with both nylon and wire. I don't get that, but then again, I'm not a guitar person yet. I'll have to ask Ron what his opinion is. For now she's resting nicely against the wall watching me type - I'm not sure, but I think I saw her sighing just a little. Could be that she realizes she's found a home, could be because she smells the chocolate chip cookies in the oven and wishes that she could partake!

Stella has a string holder like I've never seen before, it is metal and attaches to the bottom reaching up to hold the strings in place. I've only seen the bars holding strings in the past, and that one thing made her stand out a little to me. There were certainly dozens of beautiful instruments waiting to be adopted on Ebay. You could look into that if you're of a mind to do so. I wanted a guitar I could befriend and love, not just play and set aside. I never store an instrument. They are always displayed, allowed to visit, be picked up and loved by others, and sometimes I've found that staying with me wasn't the ultimate destiny of a particular instrument, and they have become gifts to people who can give them everything...but not Stella. She and I will be friends for life.

I keep looking at her. She's so pretty. I pulled out one of my new beginner books and partially read it out loud to her. She speaks English! I wasn't sure, she could have been a Spanish guitar, but she's actually from the Midwest, maybe originally from Chicago...wouldn't that be great? It's time to find her a birthday, and to do that I have to narrow down her personality first, determine the zodiac sign, and then find the right number for her. At first blush I would say she's an Aquarius, maybe something like my friend Jennifer, born Feb. 16, 1962. Perhaps it will turn out to be the best date; until then, keep your music and of course your imagination in plain sight!

Ice Trees Cometh

Faith is a very talented dog, but there are a few things even she can't do. She can't stand up and stay still. She has to balance, therefore you see her moving in this picture. She also can't balance as well as a four-legged dog on ice, hence the moving in the picture. She also doesn't poo or pee on ice...thus the DANCING in the picture. She cracks me up. More than 10 times today I have attempted to put her out so she can relieve herself, but she insists that she's just fine. She'll walk to the edge of the patio, maybe even venture to the edge of the grass line, but when she steps on the icy mess - forgetaboutit! She tumbles, trips, and stumbles her way back into the house for warmth. (When you're a dog and you're walking upright, every bit of friction helps) For all His blessings of this dog, God did not choose to give her much under-hair. She has top hair only. He knew she'd be an indoor dog!

So, I woke up this morning to the alarm clock turning off, turning on, lights on, lights off...thundering booming bursts of lightning, and ice. Not rain,just ice. Falling and sticking to everything...inch to an inch and a half, everything....I think Faith was afraid she was next after surveying the bushes. Matrix did the right thing the first time, and now resides under the covers on top of the bed, demanding that I bring him water and food to the room. He knows I'll buckle. I always do. We have rules in this house about the comfort of our dogs.

God can do so many things with His weather; He chooses to use Oklahoma as his canvas, we have more types of weather in such short amounts of time. Tomorrow we won't be experiencing ice, oh no. It will be 49 degrees and we'll have 40 mile an hour wind. Just because that's the way we roll here - stick around, you'll see it all. Poor dogs, they go up to Seattle and the rain just falls, makes very little sound, and the grass is actually soft, not cracking under their feet. Oh, sounds like a trip to Seattle might just be the thing to do....after we get back from Spain next week. Oh, I didn't tell you? More tomorrow, I have to go get the luggage I promised myself I would buy if the trip came through.

Happy Sliding!

Animals v. Humans

(Caity's timestamp is off, but she got great shots)





We just got back from the Zoo again. You have to understand the reasoning behind the multiple trips we take to our zoological park. I'd love to say its for educational purposes, but that would be a stretch. I go to work out. I can put in 4 miles in just under an hour and half, walking and smelling everything along the way. While I'm walking I take a gander at some of the big and smaller creatures that come out and I imagine what my life would be like if I were say -- the Flamingo. (Laura is the flamingo in our family. She's gangly, delicate to sight, but really tough inside. She trips herself a lot, and isn't quite the norm...flamingo). If I were a flamingo I would be the pinkest one. I love carrots. I'd be like this bright neon bird walking around and everyone would goose me for stealing all the beta carotene.

Moving on to the chicken hawk.....actually, it has another name, but I call it the chicken hawk. Caity is the chicken hawk in our family, though she could also be considered a red or silver fox. Crafty as hell, small, sleek, and deceptive - oh, but the chicken hawk will grab anything it wants, jump on it, beat the living crap out of it until whatever it is he/she's grabbed has died or it(chicken hawk) has been slaughtered....Caity. I think of the little gray wonder and I always tuck my fingers into a fist when I walk by its cage...just in case. Just in case.

Someone and I mean fast, needs to get inside the hippo cage and brush those back teeth with some sort of a hippo-tooth whitener...what will the tourists say? Our hippos are the little ones, if hippos come in large, medium, and smaller sizes. We had two full size animals at one time, I grew up with Norman and Mitilda, but even hippos have to go to Heaven, so now we have the little guys. Much more room for them to swim, and children think they're babies -- "Where's the mommy hippo?" That question usually sparks me to pull out my fists from my pockets and call the girls on my cell. I have them on speed dial - Caity first, of course.

I check up on the brats when I'm power walking, giving them a location so they know how far to run either from me or toward me. I carry the money, so if they get hungry I always have that to look forward to. I'll call Caity and the conversation goes like this: Ring-ring-ring "What?" "Brat, I'm at the buffalo" "That's nice I'm not" and she hangs up. Not to worry, I heard big chimpanzees in the background. I know exactly where she is, and the phone ringing probably interrupted her plan to jump the fence, climb the wall, and get close enough to really communicate with the beasts.

I always call Laura second so she can ask me where Caity is since Caity never answers Laura's call. Ring-ring-ring-ring-ring-ring."Hi Mommy, I'm at the lion, oh, and they are all out, and the baby is just rolling over, he's so cute." "What took you so long to answer?" "Oh, did it? Sorry. Where's Caity" "Chimps", "Thanks, see ya." "Hey, don't you care where I am?" "Not really, I'll ask Caity when I see her, I'm sure you told her." She hangs up.

Eventually I get my 4 miles in, they get their thrills and chills from googling and gawking. Laura actually enjoys the animals, Caity becomes one, and I just want to avoid resembling the rhino or the elephant...I'm thinking a nice average gazelle would be great, maybe a lynx...we dream. Our turtle, one of our Galapagos Islanders, turns 100 this year. Can you imagine? Wow. Turtles get sexier with age don't you think?

Another Use for Bacardi

You know what? I really don't drink that much. I can count the times I've been drunk on 3 fingers and 2 of those times I was set up - should've called the police type events, but because of where I was at the time it would have gotten very little attention. Let's just say I'm not a drinker. I love wine though. The times in my past that I have walked into the liquor store and picked up a small bottle of Bacardi have been for truly medicinal purposes. I remember at the age of 4 my son had head lice and was being kicked out of daycare - enter Mr. Bacardi. I simply poured the stuff on the kid and combed out every nit after just a few seconds. They can't hold their liquor.

Another time I bought the stuff I was suffering from a severe cold with a cough that would not stop and no amount of Robitussin was helping - besides, Robitussin was actually more expensive than a bottle of B, so there you have it. Today I'm thinking of going right back to Panchos Liquor Store and picking up another bottle of do-it-all medicine from the clear whiskey aisle. The staph is taking over my life and I'm about to throw something at my dog (he jumped up on the bed and touched my bum with his foot this morning, sending me screaming as I rolled off the bed, hitting the same spot, and screaming again.) I think I can do this.

I think I can get a bottle of Bacardi, go another block or two to the Academy Sports store and pick up a simple black mouth guard. I'm going to need something tough and strong to bite down on - if I can even get the angle I need to pour the hot 100 proof scalder where it needs to go....Doctors would probably discourage me. I can see the e-mails now "Don't tell children to use liquor on staph, tell them to take antibiotics prescribed by a doctor." OK...kids, go to the doctor! Don't pour liquor on your bum...but if you do, get something really tough and rubbery to bite on so you don't end up biting off you bottom lip or screaming so loud the neighbors call 9-1-1 thinking you're being killed.

I'll do a little research first. Google it: "100 Proof Staph", or maybe go to www.ask.com and type in "Does 100 proof whiskey kill staph?" I should try that first and see what happens...it'll come back with a disclaimer "Yes, but see your doctor if you develop a liking for the method of intake you're describing. You could have other issues to deal with."

Edgar & Stella

When I think of guitarists,when I think of the one that I should have chased down like a dog and didn't, I think of Edgar Cruz. (Sorry girls, he's married) You can find him at www.edgarcruz.com and buy all of his fantastic CDs and admire all the great work he's done. I can think to myself that he will always be the best at Flamenco playing ever ever, and even though his beautifully talented brother is an extremely close second, I have to give Edgar the tiny (oh-so-tiny) advantage over Mark, just because I never actually flirted with Mark. (Hi Manuel too, can't forget the other brother) So, when you're out and about buying guitar CDs, go to the Cruz family first. Why do I mention them? Well, the other picture in the blog is that of STELLA, she's my new friend.

Stella Silvertone is the name I have chosen for a really cool guitar with a little sad story. I never go to the music store and pick up a guitar or any other musical instrument off the shelf. I don't want to be the first to have owned it. I want to let the heart of the instrument speak first, perhaps inviting me to be a part of its life. (I know, I'm a die-hard romantic with fantasy tendencies) Stella was found on Ebay this week. After seeing advertisements for Edgar's local performances (he travels as much as I do, so to be in town at the same time was incredible) I decided to fulfill at least one of my guitar fantasies. If I couldn't have Edgar (LOL) I could at least teach myself to play the guitar; something I have been really trying to do for over 25 years. Oddly, it turns out that Stella hasn't been played in just about that long.

I found her on Ebay and won the bidding. When her sellers told me they weren't really guitar people I asked them where she came from. They had purchased her at a thrift store, but the thrift store manager I found who remembered the guitar, told me she had been left in the attic of a man who thought he wanted to play her, but never did, and for more than twenty years she was left alone. The sellers said she sat in their attic for years too - well,I don't have an attic. Stella is going to have to be content with being played. We're going to learn together, and I know she's going to be thrilled to sing again - even if it is a bunch of simple chords, baby songs, and picking around. She'll be taken to the Guitar Doctor (Honest Ron) as soon as she arrives. I intend on having her completely made over, and when she is ready we'll go through the introduction slowly. I have a DVD...I'm so ready.

If I get in a pinch and can't figure something out - I have the best Plan B ever...find Edgar!

www.edgarcruz.com

FYI MOM - You're WRONG

You know how your kids always tell you how wrong you are, and you usually recoil and strike back with a very loud "But OF COURSE I'm wrong, I'm always wrong, I couldn't possibly be right about anything" ? You've been there - well, this time I had to concede (Mark it down, I'm not wrong very often) I was wrong. The picture you see above is not of a tank. I told people that my son drove tanks and well...I was wrong. My son is a PFC (E3) in the United States Army, and he drives Strykers. The vehicle above is a perfect example of what a beautifully maintained, washed, and ready-to-fight Stryker appears to be. My son's Stryker, I am told, is a bit more gritty, a little on the rough side, sort of like my boy. If my son drove a clean anything I would be amazed. I know, and I could bet my life on it, that when he pulls that Strker into the garage at Ft. Wainwright that he doesn't take the time to dig out all the candy wrappers, paper towels, empty crushed water bottles, and if you look really closely you'll find a pencil because he's like me, he has to be writing or drawing something if he's got a few minutes on his hands.

My son's job is to drive. He does not navigate. I don't know if you know this, or if you keep up with my blog, but my son is directionally challenged. He'll be a great Ranger soon, in fact he's qualified to do exactly that, but even OnStar couldn't help the boy if they didn't have visuals to put before him. He's THAT bad off. Driving isn't a problem. Turn the key, crank the motor, point the machine, and floor it. Always floor it. Who ever saw a tank (or Stryker) creeping up to something. I think the only reason they put my son in one of these things in the first place was because the Army knew I had paid over $1500 in speeding tickets for the boy just to get him to the point where he could sign in. If he had left the day after he left he would have been in the pokey for one of them. The city, being kind and considerate (and patriotic) pardoned him. 12 tickets in 2 years, all speeding. That was an easy fix for Uncle Sam....give him a Stryker. Let him play.

Well, seems the consultants on the CBS shows The Unit, NCIS, CSI-NY, CSI-Miami, and others have been asking the wrong people about Army and/or military rules, regs, and apparel. The entire time my son was home for his holiday I was forced to endure the laughing, the swearing, the finger pointing ridicule my son gave to the producers of these shows each and every time someone got it wrong on screen. You and I don't know these things, we aren't "Squared Away" enough to know these things, but if I recorded him screaming at the television once I have recorded him screaming at the television a dozen times. "You can't park that there! You can't even have an M1 out in public you freakin' moron!" (I added the freakin' he said something else) He was all over The Unit, a show I thought was pretty tight until my son pointed out how lame they are. Makes me wonder how I survived without him the first 24 years of my life.

Strykers are not tanks. You should know that. They don't have the big turret on top, and they have wheels. When I asked him why he was driving these vehicles instead of the M1A1 that he signed up to drive he giggled. Seems he constantly broke the rules in the simulator. The pedals in an M1A1 are smaller, and his foot didn't exactly fit. He had a problem pulling his foot up at times too, and the Stryker can actually out run the M1A1 - - in a you'll-never-actually-see-that-happen race. Military people can be so funny at times. They think we don't know. They think we can't see the twinkle in the eyes of a boy that knows the truth about who would win in such an event.

My baby boy just called me last night to say he was on 2 hour's notice to defend our country with his rolling friend. Together they will be shipped somewhere and they will be together for a while. You can pray for my son, I would appreciate that. I read a poem once about the Soldier's Night Before Christmas, and in a nutshell it said that he may not be home, but because he is not, your home is safe to celebrate our Lord's birth. Hooah Soldier! Hooah!